


Party of Two

by pagerunner



Category: Borderlands
Genre: College, M/M, gayperion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5759476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagerunner/pseuds/pagerunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys and Vaughn, back in their college days, find a few better things to do with their Saturday night than the latest awkward campus party. Shameless fluff, inspired by a few comments and tags over on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party of Two

Rhys learns a lot of things about Vaughn that night at Spencer’s party.

For one thing, it turns out that Vaughn _hates_ parties. For another, and this fact is possibly connected to that first one, he can’t hold his liquor worth a damn. After half an hour of wheedling Vaughn to loosen up and _try_ to enjoy himself, and then a round or two of drinks from a punchbowl Rhys probably should have been more suspicious about, Vaughn is finally and decidedly Not Sober. Still, it hasn’t changed his opinion of the house party in the least. He’s still hanging off Rhys’ sleeve, scowling at everything and giving disdainful commentary at every opportunity. It’s just a little more slurred than usual. “This place is _loud,”_ he tells Rhys, the italics practically tangible. “And everyone here is _obnoxious._ And…what are _they_ doing…?”

He points, wobbly-armed, at a shadowy scene in the corner between their host for the evening and two girls from their statistics class (which Vaughn is doing _way_ better in than Rhys is, but never mind). Rhys gets one dazed look at the tableau—significantly dazed, he has to admit; he’s not exactly sober either—before he yelps, laughs, and turns away, because he’s realized what their classmates are, in fact, _doing._ He has to resist the urge to cover Vaughn’s virginal eyes. Well, maybe virginal. He really has no idea, come to think of it. Vaughn’s looking more puzzled than scandalized, honestly, like he’s just trying to work out the geometry of it all.

“Ohhkay, I think that’s enough of that,” Rhys says, steering Vaughn away from the threesome in progress. “Y’know, you’re kinda right…this isn’t great.” Vaughn snorts in agreement. “We’ve put in our appearance anyway. I can walk you home.”

“Ugh. Good. Let’s.” Vaughn still takes the opportunity to grab a clear plastic cup off the nearest table and down half its contents, whatever those may be. Rhys pries it out of Vaughn’s fingers before he can drink too much more of it, and it splashes, whereupon Rhys decides that the wisest course of action is to finish it himself before it can spill again. Vaughn doesn’t seem to mind. “Home is good. Less _yelling._ ”

That much is definitely valid. Home also doesn’t have bad karaoke in the living room and somebody streaking through the front yard being chased by someone else with a camera, and…whatever those two are doing with the beer and the plastic tubes, and…yeah, home is _definitely_ a plan.

That's why they steer themselves in tandem out the front door and down the street, away from frat row and toward their decidedly less glamorous dorm. It’s a long walk, in no small part because they’re stumbling a little, and pausing every half-block or so to laugh at some stupid joke or point out another Saturday-night escapade in progress, or, for that matter, just to lean against a lamppost and catch their breath. Vaughn tries at least once to treat Rhys like _he’s_ the lamppost, tilting against him with a drunken giggle and just holding on for a while. It’s…a little awkward, sure, since they’re still standing outside in view of anyone nearby, but it’s also kind of nice, and Rhys finds himself returning the hug before saying more softly, “Come on. Dorm’s this way.”

Vaughn nods and lets himself get tugged along again.

They make it up the two flights of stairs, barely, and tumble inside together. After a half-hearted kick to close the door behind him, and switching on only one light—the blue desk lamp in the corner, since anything brighter would just hurt his eyes right now—Rhys flumps onto their battered couch. Vaughn comes along for the fall. They end up knocking the breath out of each other, then laughing, jostling about for space with elbows landing in too many uncomfortable places before they figure things out. Complicated geometry, again. But once they settle, it’s not so bad. It’s not bad at all. And it’s…different, Rhys thinks, with Vaughn suddenly this much less self-conscious, and so much less concerned than usual with personal space.

It’s nice in a way that Rhys didn’t expect. He finds himself holding his breath, warming a little, when Vaughn snuggles in even closer.

“ _Hate_ parties,” Vaughn mumbles against Rhys’ chest.

“Yeah,” Rhys murmurs, lifting one hand and carefully, experimentally resettling it. Vaughn doesn’t protest at all when it lands on his back. “That party was seriously lame.”

“Waste of time. We could’ve just stayed here.”

As much as Rhys has been getting sick of this dingy little dorm room, of the lack of space and the noisy neighbors and the complaint list he’s got that’s a mile long by now, he finds himself saying, “Here’s way better,” and meaning it. Because Vaughn’s humming happily now under the slow, easy trace of Rhys’ fingertips against Vaughn’s shoulderblade. Rhys hadn’t even meant to start doing that. It just…feels natural, somehow.

He looks down, wondering if he can get away with pressing his cheek against Vaughn’s tousled hair, if he can write that off as an accident if it’s too much.

But oh, boy, he’s _definitely_ had too much to drink if he’s suddenly thinking like this. Sure, he’s fooled around with guys a couple times before, but this is _Vaughn._ His bro. His wingman and his new best friend, who isn’t the sort of person Rhys wants to get inappropriately handsy with just because he’s had a few too many. That way lies awkward conversations and uncomfortable distances, and he’d deserve it for taking advantage.

It’s not that Vaughn isn’t sort of taking advantage himself, though, what with one hand curling into Rhys’ shirt and holding on like this, warm where it’s resting against his chest. Rhys breathes deep at the touch, which only makes Vaughn shift gently against him in a way that’s just…oh, is it ever something.

Damn it.

He’s got half a mind to stand up, deposit Vaughn alone into bed if he has to, then walk off and dunk himself into a cold shower—that part’s easy, because the hot water’s been on the fritz for days—but then suddenly Vaughn’s talking, and of all the things, he’s asking, “Have you ever kissed another guy?”

Rhys jumps a little, startled. “Wait. What?”

“Just curious.” It comes out in this sleepy sort of mumble, one that does funny things to Rhys’ nerves. “I mean, you’ve told me some about the parties you _didn’t_ drag me to…”

“Oh. Um. Right.” Yeah, those were those moments he’d just been thinking about. Those encounters had been less about kissing, admittedly, than about hands in interesting places, and one notable blowjob that had left Rhys boneless and sated on a stranger’s couch, thinking that yeah, maybe it _did_ help to get one of those from a guy who knew how a good one felt. Not that Rhys’ last girlfriend had been bad at it, but she’d never been enthusiastic. As for _that_ guy…

Rhys still has no idea what his name even was, which is mildly embarrassing, and he’s choosing to blame that for the way his voice squeaks when he says, “Sort of?”

“I figured.” Vaughn tilts his head, looking up at Rhys. “I saw a couple guys tonight sort of eyeing you.”

 _Like you’re eyeing me now?_ Rhys thinks despite himself. What he asks aloud is, “Who?”

Vaughn snorts out a laugh. “I dunno. You were ignoring them, anyway.”

“Well, we were busy.”

Vaughn’s fingers tighten in Rhys’ shirt. “Yeah,” he says, low and amused. There’s something just plain unfair about that tone of voice, and…oh, crap, Rhys thinks, shifting his hips and feeling _really_ conscious, suddenly, of the warm, heavy feeling there. He’s getting hard, against all sense, responding perhaps inevitably to those memories and these _questions_ and all this uncommon closeness. Vaughn’s going to notice any second now if he hasn’t already.

On the other hand, maybe that’s why Vaughn’s been asking all this. It would be crafty of him, in, ultimately, a very Vaughn sort of way.

That thought only makes his blood pound harder.

“Okay, you’re drunk,” he points out, not unfairly, but Vaughn just smiles, and he’s _right there,_ almost nose to nose with Rhys now. Rhys is doing a very bad job of managing that distance in any sensible way. He’s holding on tighter, in fact. His gaze drifts over Vaughn’s face, noting the brightness of his eyes even in the dim room, the way his lips are slightly parted.

“You haven’t asked me yet,” Vaughn says.

Rhys blinks hazily, a little too preoccupied with the physical to follow that train of thought. “Asked what?”

“If _I’ve_ kissed a guy. Or girls. Or whatever.”

“Well. Um. You…sorta feel like you know what you’re doing, honestly…”

“I know _you,”_ Vaughn says, and that’s true at least. They haven’t lived together that long, all totaled—they’re only one semester into being roommates—but they’ve both been quick, Vaughn especially, to pick up on a lot. Still, they’ve never approached this topic. It’s the thing they both keep skirting around because…well, maybe because they’re both too afraid the answer would be _no_ at the wrong moment. _No,_ and they’ll have to back off and become something else again, just when getting close was getting…interesting.

But no one’s backing off now.

“You know what?” Rhys whispers, and he has to wet his suddenly dry lips, which Vaughn watches avidly. “I don’t care if you’ve ever. I just…”

The silence goes expectant and hopeful. “Just what?”

Rhys draws in a breath, then answers by tilting his head up enough to meet Vaughn’s lips with his own.

He can feel Vaughn’s whole body go tense, as if with surprise that it’s actually happening. Then he slowly but eagerly melts into it. Rhys just moans softly when he does. It feels so good, easier than expected and better than he’d imagined, going from something tentative and soft to a thorough exploration of each other, unhurried in all the best ways.

And yeah, maybe they’re both a little drunk and Rhys feels like he should be the responsible one right now, but…oh, hell, what’s the fun in that? Besides, this is…this is downright educational. Like, he never knew until just now that touching Vaughn underneath his shirt (a new and dangerous idea, but he can’t resist) would prompt _that_ sort of noise. And he never knew what the scratch of Vaughn’s goatee would feel like compared to the unexpected softness of his mouth, and the even more unexpected little bite to Rhys’ lower lip, like salt and spice cutting through the sweetness. It all makes Rhys instinctively arch against his friend and grasp for more.

Even better, Vaughn returns it in kind.

Yeah, he’s _definitely_ learning things about Vaughn tonight. He’s learning a few things about himself, too. And he finds himself saying between kisses, while Vaughn starts working on undoing his belt, “Okay, yeah. This is a _way_ better idea than that stupid party.”

Vaughn’s first response to that is to laugh. “So we’re staying in next Saturday, too?”

“Oh, God. Absolutely.”

Vaughn grins and touches him again, this time in even more intimate places. It shuts Rhys up pretty thoroughly except for a long, involuntary moan. Going by the look on Vaughn’s face—the one that makes Rhys suddenly suspect he’s a lot less drunk than he’s been acting, the sneaky little bastard—that was _exactly_ the sort of response he was going for.

Yep, Rhys thinks before his thoughts completely short out. Vaughn really is the faster learner of the two of them.

All things considered, Rhys is absolutely all right with that in every, every way.


End file.
